Horatio and Lucy
by Neteret
Summary: Fantasy colors reality under the Miami sun in this addition to Horatio's Harem.


This story is part of Horatio's Harem, but I am now listing them separately under the general title of Horatio and..

CSI: Miami

Horatio/oc

Disclaimer: I own nothing of CSI: Miami, I do not know anyone connected with the show or with CBS and they do not know me, all of which is a shame.

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Lucy

Listening to her bell-like laughter echoing through the halls of the empty lab, Lieutenant Horatio Caine knew that he was hopelessly insane. For one thing, the lab was never empty. Like its sister unit, the Miami-Dade Police Department, like the city of Miami, the Crime Scene Investigation Laboratory never closed.

That sweet, chiming giggle rang again through the moonlit spaces, bouncing off of the glowing louvered glass walls. Why she was in here? Until now, she'd only appeared when he was outside.

Ever trying to save itself, his mind clutched at the only process that it could comprehend at the moment, logic. _'Okay,'_ it posited, '_he was insane. Then, how did he get this way?_ _Was it from having nearly died from sunstroke?_'

A few months ago, a stalker had kidnapped the object of his fixation, fled out to the Everglades with the girl and raced off in a stolen airboat. Playing the hero again, Horatio had pursued in a second airboat. Ten miles out, where the kidnapper had gone wide around a dead tree trunk poking out of the water at an angle, Horatio had cut close, swinging the back corner of the craft just under the uppermost branch, which brought him closer to the fleeing boat. Thirty seconds later, however, not more then fifty feet away from his prey, the roar of the caged blades on his boat had died and the captor sped off, the girl in a heap at his feet. Something essential had obviously been cut or knocked loose and he was dead in the water, at two in the afternoon, in the summer, on a cloudless, steamy day. He'd failed to save the girl, was without shade or fresh water and oh, yes, his cell was in the jacket he'd left in the Hummer on this hot, hot day. He'd felt so stupid!

First, he'd given himself a cussing worthy of his dead father. Pursuing alone! And to what end? Now that you lost them, she was as good as dead! What an asshole stunt! Typical! Then, he'd done the only thing he could; he'd lain prone on the floor of the craft, raised the collar of his shirt to cover the back of his neck and ears, put his arm up, covering as much of his face as he could, and waited to be found. The still, sticky heat had unmercifully taunted him, and he'd wanted, oh, so much, to dive into that murky water, close at hand. Even though he knew alligators were out there, his body had begged, claiming it was about to die, as the ungodly temperature thudded at him.

At some point, he must have sat up, perhaps thinking about going into the water, when there she was, floating in thin air, sitting comfortably cross-legged. Maybe her giggle had roused him. Her long brown hair undulated as if floating in water, as did her ragged looking gown that seemed to be made of reeds and plants. Her green tinged bare arms resting in front of her, she looked completely pleased with herself.

As he gaped, not sure of what to make of the apparition, she'd said, "Ah, Horatio, here you are!" Her voice sounded like bells being rung underwater.

Ever the practical one, all he'd said in reply was, "Go get help. I'm stranded out here." If not for the circumstances, he would have been charmed by her eyes, as blue as his, that glinted with deep mysteries.

"Get help? I'm sorry, but that's not what I'm here for." She laughed. Then, gesturing she called out, "Come, Horatio, come with me, under the cool water. You've done well and I'll treat you to a massage with sweet smelling oils, to reward you for all you've done. Come with me. Slip over the side and into the water."

Ignoring that he was being mocked, that he was as much as being told that he might as well end it all for having been so asinine, he countered, "I can't do that; alligators, you know, but thank you."

That laughter again. "They've been captured and now, they're in jail. That's not a problem anymore, is it?"

Not being able to make any sense of what she was saying, and feeling the sun searing his skin, he flopped back onto the floor of the airboat and buried his head into the too hot under-part of his arm. It was easy to accept that he was suffering from heat stroke but hard to ignore her voice, calling, "Horatio! Come into the water. Horatio! Horatio!" After a pause, he heard her again, only differently somehow, more throaty, more harsh, "Horatio! Horatio! H! H!" Then he felt rough hands pulling at him as he passed out.

That night, at the hospital, rehydrated, ordered to stay the night for observation, feeling only slightly better than lousy, he thanked Eric Delko. Eric, of course, immediately threw the save to his teammates, Ryan Wolfe and Calleigh Duquesne, for finding him. They'd captured the kidnapper, who'd babbled about nearly being caught by that damned redhead. Guessing who he meant, they'd tried to contact Horatio. Not getting a response from his cell, they'd found the Hummer and then they'd run a simulation program that computed a possible trail through the swamps, from the car to where the kidnapper had ended up. They'd radioed his likely location to Eric in the helicopter, who had found him and brought him to safety. The girl, he was assured, was shaken but unharmed and already back home with her family. Relieved, he still felt at fault for having rescued her.

He'd been told there would probably be aftereffects of the sunstroke, but even so, her next appearance, caught him by surprise. He was looking for evidence around a dead body that had been found earlier that morning in an empty lot, when there she was, sitting on top of a scrub palm and saying, "Come, let's take a walk at sunset, and then wait for the rising moon, and make love in a thicket of reeds! Your Swamp Princess is getting lonely. I don't have any etchings, but I can show you my cross-stitch work." She leered at him. "Go! Dive into the canal over there and swim to the park."

The next thing he knew, he was looking up into Alexx's concerned face. After helping him up, she'd admonished, "Obviously a week off wasn't enough. You could have stayed home one more day; you're entitled." Handing him the department issued sports drink, she said, "I think your body is still struggling against what you did to your electrolytes balance. Drink up, baby."

After a month or so, even though he no longer passed out in the afternoon sun, the dream still came to him; usually, when he was alone in the field, when he became conscious of the heat. Sometimes she was high above his head, on a Royal Palm, sometimes almost face to face, on one of those stubby, wide-fanned palmettos that grew everywhere, like weeds. Always, she spoke of things she wanted to say to him, no doubt to remind him of what an idiot he'd been that day! She wouldn't leave him alone!

Now, months later, he knew three hours of being steamed like a lobster was no longer an excuse, and he couldn't help but question his sanity. Quickly reviewing what he knew of mental disorders, he remembered that the physical trauma of sunstroke could trigger manifestations, but usually, with that sort of break, there were other stresses. He sighed; for himself, it was not taking time off, his drive for perfection, his drive to 'save the world' at any cost to his well being, among others. This was to say nothing of the other strains in his life in the last couple of years. '_So,_' his mind continued, '_is she an embodiment of my sense of failure?_'

Suddenly the lights in the lab were bright, he was sitting at his desk, and the halls were filled with the night shift doing their jobs. The fugue was over, for now. But, why had she shown up now? He'd only stayed after work to catch up on paperwork for a few hours. He wasn't overheated, was under no stresses or strains, and yet she'd come. This was worrisome. Grudgingly deciding the paperwork could wait, Horatio went out for a walk.

Perhaps it was because he always felt better where kids hung out that he ended up near the children's playground. Being nearly seven at night, he found no kids out playing, but he did hear sounds of laughter and squeals. Following a curved walk, he found a theater, tucked into a grove of banana palms, and, in front, a line of kids with their parents. The marquis read "The Little Mermaid Ballet."

Even though he didn't particularly like ballet or enjoy children's tales, he bought a box seat. As he'd hoped, he was alone in the box and near the stage at an angle to the general seats. He planned to distract himself for an hour or so, to take pleasure in the joy and wonder on kids' faces, but instead, he was immediately caught up by this Florida version of Hans Christian's Anderson's tale. In place of the ocean for a background, the venue was the Everglades, and, rather than a mermaid, the maiden was a very stylized manatee. More intriguing, the chorus dancers were swamp girls, with green makeup and dressed in gauzy gowns made to look like layers of reeds and swamp grasses. Strangest of all, the dancer who was assigned to the area of the stage closest to him looked disturbingly like his apparition. He didn't even marvel that the lead male dancer, not a Prince, but a noble Park Ranger, had shining red hair.

After the performance, no doubt the back stage guard thought he was a relative of the lead dancer, and let him enter, though he was not accompanied by a child. All of the dancers had young fans gathered about them, wanting autographs. While waiting for his turn to meet this one particular 'swamp princess', he wondered how to say, "Why have you been haunting me for the last four months?"

He was completely surprised when he heard, "I thought I recognized you out there! You're Lieutenant Caine, right? You're the one who saved my sister. You know, she's very grateful to you. She said you scared that guy so bad that he nearly forgot about her, and by the time he remembered, the rest of your people had him." She put out a green painted hand. "She's away at school now, but may I take you to dinner, to thank you for what you did? My name is Lucy Malta, by the way. Are you free this evening?"

Bemused by the barrage of talk, Horatio wondered what her laughter might sound like. "That isn't necessary, but thank you."

"Why? Because of the case? It's all been solved and the man is in jail. That's not a problem anymore, is it? "

The thought of alligators crossed his mind for some reason.


End file.
